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Sunday, December 15, 2013

An Orphan Boy for Christmas

R

ecently, I
was visited by The Ghost of Christmas Past just as surely as was Ebenezer
Scrooge in the well-known Charles Dickens novel, A Christmas Carol.

While preparing
for the most important holiday of the year, I began thinking of former
celebrations – all the way back to my childhood. As a little girl, Christmas
couldn’t have been more wonderful. An only child, I was doted on by my parents,
grandparents, aunts and uncles. I received more Christmas presents than any
child deserves.

But I was
thankful.

My mother
taught me at a young age to appreciate what others did for me; I always showed delight
with the gifts I received so that the givers knew they were appreciated. And so I wouldn't get into trouble with my mother! But
one Christmas, when I was eleven years old, there was a surprise I hadn’t
counted on, and wasn’t sure I wanted.

My parents
decided to bring home a little boy from an orphanage to spend Christmas with
us. They didn’t ask for my input, which I resented, and I was uncertain how I
felt about it. All of my relatives will
want to make it a wonderful Christmas for this little orphan boy. What if he
gets more presents than I do? Will I be able to be thankful and appreciative,
or will I be envious of his loot?I’ve
never had to share before.

I didn’t say
anything, but I was secretly concerned that this unusual venture might turn out
badly for everyone. Especially me.

Tommy was
eight years old. He had pale skin, blonde hair, and was so skinny he looked
like a stick with ears. At first glance, I felt a little sorry for him. The few
clothes he brought were in a large paper bag. My mother put them in drawers in
the room where he’d be sleeping.

We hit it
off pretty well. I taught him how to play one of my board games and we played
until dinner was ready. He seemed alright. This
might work out after all, I thought.

Two days
before Christmas, my mother took Tommy and me shopping to get a gift for my
dad. We watched as she chose a nice wallet and had it gift wrapped and topped
off with a big red bow. Then she took us to a soda shoppe for ice cream. It was
a fun afternoon. On the way home, my mother cautioned us both, “Now, you must
not say anything to your dad about what we bought him. It’s a surprise!”

“Okay,” we
said simultaneously.

The next
day was Christmas Eve – the day all my relatives came by to say Merry Christmas
and deliver presents. My mother had all kinds of cookies, candy and other
goodies made up for the occasion. Much fun was in store.

As
relatives started arriving, Tommy became more and more excited. Everyone smiled
and spoke to him and, as presents were placed under the tree, he noticed that
some of them had his name on them. He could hardly contain his excitement!

After
everyone was gone, Mother gave us some eggnog and cookies and told us it was
bedtime. “Santa won’t come until you’re asleep,” she said.

I went
right to sleep, weary from so much activity and excitement.

Someone
said my name. When I opened my eyes, Tommy was standing beside my bed smiling.
“It’s Christmas!” He said.

“Tommy,
it’s not even light outside. What time is it?”

“I don’t
know,” he said. “Let’s go see if Santa came.”

I can
honestly say this was the first Christmas ever that my presents weren’t as
important to me as watching someone else enjoy his. Tommy ran from one thing to
another, not stopping long at one place before moving on to something else. He
had cars, trucks, board games, GI Joe army men with a tank and an airplane, and
other toys, but what he needed most was clothes. And he got them. There was a
nice winter jacket, pants, shirts, socks, shoes, pajamas and underwear. He made
quite a haul! He even got a little suitcase to put his clothes in when he goes
somewhere.

When my
parents finally sat down to open their gifts, Tommy and I settled down nearby
to watch, clapping our hands excitedly each time a gift was opened. When my dad
picked up the familiar looking gift with the big red bow and began to tear the
paper, Tommy couldn’t stand it any longer. With a glowing smile on his face, he
blurted, “Somebody’s gonna get a billfold!”

My mother waved
her hands in the air and shot a nasty look his way, but the damage was done. My
father, who loved a good faux pas, laughed heartily.

Christmas
Day was wonderful! My mother cooked a big turkey dinner with all the trimmings
and Tommy and I played games and enjoyed our gifts all day long. My friend,
Carol came by to see what I got for Christmas and told me about her gifts.

That night,
when Mother was tucking Tommy and me into bed, he surprised her by saying,
“Goodnight, Mom.”

The next morning,
I asked my mother if we could keep Tommy – adopt him as a member of our family
– my little brother? After a little hesitation, she said, “I’m sorry, honey. It
just wouldn’t work out. It was a nice Christmas for Tommy and we enjoyed it, too,
but we have to take him back now.I knew
better than to argue with my mother, so I nodded and wiped away the tears that
were brimming in my eyes.

Mother
packed Tommy’s new clothes into his new suitcase and boxed up his new Christmas
toys. And after a leisurely breakfast, we drove him back to the orphanage. The
whole fifteen mile trip was silent – Tommy, looking out the window on one side
of the car and I, on the other.

Inside the orphanage,
we took turns hugging Tommy and telling him goodbye, then he ran off to show
some of the other boys what he had gotten for Christmas. He didn’t even look
back as we were leaving.

I cried all
the way home.

We never
saw Tommy again. Nor did we ever hear from him.

Sometimes I
think about him and wonder where he is and what kind of life he had. I like to
think that he was adopted by parents who needed a little boy to love. Someone
who gave him a good home, an education and everything he needed for a good
life.

I think my
parents thought they were teaching me a valuable lesson - showing me how fortunate I
was to be loved by so many and have so much given to me.

Letting me
see the way some not-so-fortunate children live.

I suppose
it was a worthwhile lesson, but, after many
years, it still makes me sad to remember Tommy and the way he looked on that
long-ago Christmas morning when he stood beside my bed while it was still dark
outside, and said, “It’s Christmas!”